


Dancing on Your Grave

by theescapist99



Series: A Nice Place To Visit [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Another Prompt, M/M, More Fluff, Slight Canon Divergence, basically a drunk percival tries teaching credence how to waltz, detailed kissing, humor almost, implied established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: A retelling of the evening where a few bottles of wine led Percival and Credence shared their first dance... and their very first kiss.





	Dancing on Your Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt!
> 
> https://carryonmyobscurialson.tumblr.com/post/160747189787/for-the-prompts-dear-graves-teaching-credence-to
> 
> Guess I don't need a laptop to write after all. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“That’s it, my boy… nice and easy.”

Credence was having a difficult time breathing… and it had not much to do with a lack of air or exhaustion from movement.

Percival Graves was pressed against him. Or rather, _he_ was pressed against Percival Graves while the older man’s firm arms held Credence around the small of his back. The other arm was extended with the attached hand gripping one of Credence’s heavily sweating palms.

Slowly – toes touching ever so slightly – they rotated and spun in an awkward, outdoor waltz that was witnessed only by the half lidded eye of the crescent moon.

“Mr. Graves, what if someone catches us? I really can’t…” Credence whispered frantically, his dark eyes darting in every direction out of building paranoia.

“ _Shhh_ ….” Percival only hushed him, his own dark eyes distant and glossy with something like infatuation or perhaps even lust. In the close proximity to the older man’s mouth, Credence could smell the two bottles of wine he had drunk over the course of dinner.

Credence knew it was almost certainly not much use convincing Percival of anything right now … or at least anything that Percival didn’t want already.

“What do you want, Mr. Graves?” Credence found himself whispering before he could stop it.

What had meant to be a rhetorical question snuck out quietly from the parting between his lips, and silently he cursed himself for letting it slip.

“You said you can’t dance,” Percival hummed as he continued to gently rock both their bodies, swaying Credence with the gentleness of a springtime breeze.

“So, I’m teaching you how to dance. To waltz. My favorite way to dance.”

The older man had explained this like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Percival had said it like Credence had not said that as a passing comment… but rather a request.

He spoke like they had _not_ been nearly ending their late dinner – the director _sauced_ out of his mind – when he jumped up, told Credence to get on his coat, and whisked them both outside bordering the hour of 3 AM.

…Like there wasn’t a statute of secrecy that wouldn’t get them both _very_ much in trouble if they happen to be seen.

…Like Percival _wasn’t_ supposed to be the director of magical security himself and the last person you’d expect to find in public -- drunkenly doing the waltz with another man who was three times uglier and half his age.

“I _can’t_ dance,” Credence retorted, “But I didn’t say I wanted to! My feet are too bi-aaaaah!”

Credence felt panic bubble in the pit of his stomach as he was suddenly dropping, and for a bleak second he thought that maybe Percival had shoved him.

Yet the plummet stopped short and Credence could feel that Percival’s left arm was still snaked tightly around the younger man’s waist.

The director had dipped him.

Panting -- the boy strained his neck to look up at Percival.

Even under the dim lighting of the clouded evening sky, Credence could see the reddish tinge that colored the skin of Percival’s cheekbones.

He wondered if it was still alcohol -- or much like the creeping blush that Credence sometimes caught on his own face should he happen to glimpse his own reflection after certain interactions he has had with the director.

Percival yanked the boy upright… but once straightened Credence found that Percival was holding his body even tighter to himself -- just so that the tips of their noses brushed lightly.

Credence gasped softly, the risk of the seemingly trivial moment no longer nagging at his instincts.

In the next second, Percival pressed his lips against Credence’s own slowly and sensually.

Credence’s mind had gone mute all together – a head that was so frequently filled to the brim with worries and troubled thoughts suddenly drifted into silence.

It was as though the pressure of Percival’s lips against his own was this alluring lullaby that sent the bad voices away -- the sinister parts of him that now escaped the surface of his mind to retreat into deeper trenches, sure to remerge in the form of nightmares yet to come.

Below the set of locked lips, their feet were still moving – dancing, even – but Credence was no longer conscious of that part of this.

Percival’s tongue flitted lightly against Credence’s front teeth, asking for entry into the cavern of Credence’s unexplored mouth.

Credence opened those gates willingly -- a muffled moan escaping as he felt the large and wet tongue slip inside him, and he tried to greet it with a clumsy and awkward caress using his own unexperienced tongue.

And they stood there – just like that – two men kissing against the backdrop of the New York City skyline, with Credence unable to think of anything else except just how right this felt.

While his mind was still dormant, his heart sang the song that provided an unheard melody for their halfhearted waltz. The lyrics went something like:

_I don’t know how I got here… or why I am here,_

_But as long as I have you,_

_As long as you can promise that you won’t go away,_

_Not ever again,_

_I think we’ll be okay._

When they parted, it was only because both men were running out of breath.

Yet their lips would only separate to where they were no long pressed against each other, but they still were close enough to touch… smooth and wine flavored lips grazing softly against chapped and quivering ones.

Between Credence and Percival, the warmth in their quickened breaths created miniature clouds that embodied their mutual yearning.

“Maybe we should go home now,” Credence was surprisingly the first to break the silence, something in the back of his mind giving him the baseless idea that he might be able to get more of… whatever this was… in the privacy of their own home.

 _Their_ home – not just Mr. Grave’s – as Mr. Graves so frequently reminded him.

“Yeah, let’s,” Percival agreed finally, releasing Credence from the tight embrace but still holding out an arm for Credence to hold on to as they walked.

Credence smiled, “Such a gentleman.”

“For you, always,” Percival grinned sheepishly.

Before they began the long walk home, Percival paused.

The older man turned around and looked back at the spot on which he and Credence had spent the last hour dancing.

“What is it, Mr. Graves?” Credence’s brows furrowed as he watched the older man approach the hard cement of the flat tombstone.

Percival held up a finger to silence him, and Credence heard the director hock a particularly loud loogie. The wad of spit fell just in the center of where Gellert Grindelwald’s name was engraved.

“Rest in hell, fucking bastard…” Percival growled under his breath before he turned again.

Credence retook his position on Percival’s arm -- resting his head against the outline of his muscular bicep as both men began the long journey back to sanity and serenity.


End file.
